Daydreaming
by ShadowSwan
Summary: "Is this real, I wonder. Or am I dreaming? Am I really stood here, watching my best friend step into the wedding dress that should be mine? I am. And I've never felt so conflicted in my life." Peddie one-shot, AU.


Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places etc. related to House of Anubis.

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**A/N: As a pre-warning, this gets very melodramatic. Just roll with it.**

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Daydreaming

Is this real, I wonder. Or am I dreaming? Is this happening right now? Am I really stood here, watching my best friend step into the wedding dress that should be mine?

I am. And I've never felt so conflicted in my life.

I glance into a mirror, surveying myself. I look nice. Of course she'd choose pink for the bridesmaid dresses, but she chose a nice pink. A dusky, rosy sort of pink. The pink you'd always pleaded with me to wear, just once. Well here it is. Your wedding present. I'm wearing pink.

My hair is loose, soft curls and pinned up at the side. The style I always wore at school. The way I looked the first time you saw me, the first time we kissed, the first time you told me you loved me. I smile at the mirror, watch my matching pink lips pull up into the saddest smile my face has ever worn.

Sometimes I miss school. The simplicity, the ease. When all that mattered was you, and me, and the maths homework due in for tomorrow. Before break ups, and universities, and mortgages.

Behind me, my name is called, and I drag my eyes away from the miserable face staring back at me. She's grinning at me, your bride, my best friend, and she looks beautiful. The dress is elegant and sophisticated, and of course I'd expect nothing less. She told me she designed it herself. I believe it. It looks like this dress was made for her. Her long blonde hair falls softly over the lace covering her shoulders, and I force a smile at her.

I am smiling, I am, but my heart is breaking.

Slowly, too slowly, I manage to tell her that she looks wonderful, and that you're going to love it. That you're going to fall in love with her all over again. Those words are painful. I wasn't sure how you'd fallen for her the first time round, but I could see how you were going to now.

I never expected you to go for someone like her. Our break up was bitter, so I wasn't expecting you to go for another girl like me. If you were anything like me, anyone who vaguely reminded you of me would make you want to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction. For a while, I couldn't even date guys with blonde hair. If he had an American accent, no chance. Eventually I started to move on though. The guys I've dated since have varied; some looked nothing like you, others were too much like you. Can't help who my type is though.

You are my type. You always will be. No one will ever compare to you, I've realised this now, far, far too late.

I thought I was your type, but apparently not. You've swapped red for blonde, sarcasm for innocence, rock for pop. Gone are your loose shirts and sneakers; you dress how she wants you to now. Chinos, jumpers, denim shirts buttoned up to your neck. The first time you wore that shirt, that dinner we all went to a few months ago, I could hardly contain my laughter. You looked so uncomfortable.

You didn't laugh though. You only laughed at her, her silly jokes and her false pretences at stupidity. She isn't stupid. She's incredibly clever. She won you over. The boy who never cared about anything is suddenly the man who cares about everything.

I love her. Don't get me wrong. After high school, when everyone else drifted away, we stayed close. I was never sure how that had happened. We were never great friends at school, we didn't hang out in the same circles. We shared a dorm, and that was it. We ended up at the same university though, after she came back from America, and something clicked. Maturity is a wonderful thing.

When we came back after that second summer, when she told me she'd seen you and you'd been catching up, it took me by surprise. I hadn't heard anything of you since we'd parted ways after graduation. Two years had gone by, and I was all but over you. I had a steady relationship, and I was feeling genuinely happy.

She'd looked agonised as she'd told me. She even asked my permission to keep seeing you. I'd laughed. I'd said yes instantly. Who was I to dictate her life? I had a boyfriend, she didn't, and I was over you, right. Right? When I'd said it was okay though, I hadn't expected it to last. You were too different, I told myself. Who was I to play the bad guy when it would fail anyway?

And now here we are at your wedding.

How time flies.

How things change.

I'm being called over for a photograph. I wander over to the other two bridesmaids, two girls I barely know, and we wait for her to situate herself in the middle of us. She pulls me closest to her, her arm around my waist, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see how big her smile is.

I wish I could be as happy for her.

After a long few minutes during which at least a hundred photos have been taken, we're allowed to be free again. I drift away to the side of the room, wondering again why on earth I'm doing this. I'm chief bridesmaid as she marries the man whose first love was me. Who was my first love.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the whole thing.

I watch as her other friends help her tie up her shoes. They're all giggling, and I want to giggle with them. Any other time, I would be. But today feels different. I feel like I'm on the edge of losing something. And I know exactly what I'm losing, and it makes me feel terrible.

I'm losing hope.

The hope that you'd realise how unsuited you were to one another. The hope that you'd turn around one day and remember why you still loved me. The hope we'd be the ones marrying one another someday.

That hope had started to fade the moment I watched you propose to her. Another day, another dinner. Our entire friendship group was gathered around the table. I was opposite you. I was in prime position to watch as you pulled a little black box out of your pocket, taking advantage of her momentary distraction by the person sitting on her other side. I'm so ashamed, but in that moment, I prayed it was earrings. A necklace. A charm. Anything but a ring.

It was, of course, a ring. And she, of course, said yes.

As she screamed and tried to show it to everyone around her, you'd turned to me. For one second, you'd looked at me, and I hadn't been able to decipher your expression. If I had to say it was anything, I'd say it was a mixture of confusion, longing and regret. Not what I'd expected from a man who had just proposed.

The expression was wiped instantly, the second she turned back to you, tears in her eyes. I was crying too. Happy tears, I'd assured everyone. I imagined there would be many happy tears today as well.

That day had signalled the beginning of the end. This was official now. I had lost you. And that was that.

Only it had never felt official. Even after you were engaged, I would catch you looking at me every so often. That same expression was always in your eyes. It was like you were wondering what it would've been like if I was the one wearing that ring. Well, I can tell you exactly what it would've been like. Visions of the future I've lost haunt my dreams every night, still.

And when you look at me like that, it sends me spiralling back down again. You let me believe that there is still hope for a few seconds. I hate you for that. I don't want to believe that at all. You ruined me. As time passed, I'd realised I was still in love with you, regardless of whether you did feel the same or otherwise. I left my boyfriend, knowing it was unfair to love someone else more than him while we were dating. I wanted my finger to be wearing that ring, my face to be wearing that smile.

But I'm not wearing that ring and I'm not smiling. I'm alone, and wondering what I'm doing at your wedding.

I'm being called again, and eyes are being rolled. Ever the daydreamer, they laugh. What goes on inside that head of yours, they chuckle. I imagine if they found out the truth, the laughter would be cut rather short.

Apparently it's time to go. I feel sick. Not from nerves. I can be a bridesmaid no worries, I did it for my sister last year. Not because of the people. I've become much more relaxed in my old age. Being sociable comes more naturally, much to my parents' relief.

I feel sick because I'm about to watch you exchange vows with my best friend, and I'm not sure what's going to happen next. I don't know if I can even let you do this. It was two days ago, just two days, when you last shot me that look. This time it was even more heart-wrenching. At a celebratory dinner for the wedding, I'd been on your table, and as everyone toasted you and her, you looked at me, a wild desperation and panic in your eyes.

Are you questioning your decision? Were you questioning it then? Are you, right now, stood with your best man and questioning it with only minutes to go? The selfish part of me, the part I try to bury, that part is praying you are. I hate myself for it.

She smiles at me and apparently it's time to go. Wedding cars are waiting for us outside; she goes over to hers, beaming at her father. He looks so proud. Glancing over at me, he grins. How I wish I wasn't so close to her family. I'm entwined in her life, I'm their second daughter, the sister she never had. And because of that, I'm entwined in your life too. Life can be cruel.

I wave back and meekly follow the other two bridesmaids towards a different car. There were too many of us for one car - I'm so relieved. Travelling to the wedding in her car, the car that should be taking me to my wedding, would have been hard.

The girls shoot me a look as we set off. I know they think I'm odd. They can't stop laughing and smiling; I'm struggling to inject any emotion into my eyes. I hope I can pass it off as nerves, like I'm not feeling like my entire world is about to crash down around me.

Why do you make it so hard for me to fall out of love with you?

The journey is a blur. A blur of pink and squealing and flowers and suddenly we're there. We pull up outside the church, and she's there waiting, looking like she might cry and scream and be sick all at the same time. I know exactly how she feels. Where did that time go? I'd wanted the journey to compose myself. Now I was going to have to walk up the aisle, wearing the wrong colour, freaking out.

The church is lovely. It surprises me, because you always said you wanted a wedding somewhere a little different. I wouldn't have put it past you to organise it for a burger bar. I'm guessing the church is her idea. It's small, and the modest grounds surrounding it are filled with trees and green grass. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, there isn't a hint of wind.

Of course she'd plan it perfectly.

I'm being ushered into line by someone and realise I'm directly behind her and her father. I study the detail on the back of her dress as if my life depends on it. I don't want to look anywhere else. Music is playing and we're entering the church. I can't tear my eyes away from the trail of buttons down the back of her dress - I have no desires to make eye contact with my family, or your family, or worst of all, you.

We gather at the side, and I finally raise my head. Searching for familiar faces in the mass of people filling up the church, I find my parents and my twin. They all smile at me, and I smile back. They think it's lovely that she chose me to be her bridesmaid, and that I agreed, that I agreed to this and that I agreed to wear pink. No one knows how I'm actually feeling.

No one knows that I still love you.

I glance away from them and towards you.

You're grinning at her. You look so happy, happier than I've ever seen you. My heart swells, because as much as I hate this, your happiness means more to me than anything, and for the first time today, a genuine smile finally graces my face.

The music is just finishing, and without warning, you look away from her and at me. I'm not prepared for the force of your gaze, and my stomach flips, over and over again. I try and force my smile to stay on my face but I'm pretty sure it's more of a grimace. You look at me and there it is, as always, that sudden doubt in your features.

Not today.

As quickly as you turn to me, you turn away. I doubt she even noticed your distraction. The vicar begins his speech and I look down at my feet again. I focus on the tips of my shoes, just peeking out at the bottom of my dress, focus on them so intently my eyes to start to hurt.

I don't know how long I stare at my shoes, but I start to zone out completely. It's only when I hear a collective gasp from the entire gathering that I look up, only to find you staring directly at me. What on earth is going on?

The vicar sounds confused and nervous as he repeats what he just said. It's that part I thought I'd screw up. That part where he asks if anyone objects. The part that always goes smoothly with a polite smile in a real life ceremony, the part that always goes dramatically wrong in the movies. If there was one moment I would be tested today, it would have been this moment.

As it is, it's not me causing the problem.

It's you.

You're saying the right words but at the wrong time.

Is this happening?

Your bride raises her arms, as if to ask you what the hell is going on, but you won't stop looking at me. Your eyes flick between the two of us, between her and me, between me and her, and now even I'm looking at you wondering what the hell is going on.

I wish you'd come to your senses, because the indecision in your face right now is playing havoc with my head and my heart. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were changing your mind, but of course I do know better. You know better. That would be ridiculous.

We haven't spoken properly since we broke up. The only conversations we've ever had have been polite, forced chats when she's around. I've made every effort to carefully conceal all of my feelings for you, and I think I've done a brilliant job. You're the only one who might have let it slip a few times, but they're so confusing, half the time I wonder if I'm imagining it anyway.

So why oh why are you walking away from her right now?

Several members of the crowd stand up in shock as you storm off to the right and out of the church. Your dad looks wild with concern, her parents are hurrying over to her to see if she's okay, occasionally shooting worried glances after you. My parents look over at me, clearly wondering what's happening. All I can do is shrug. For once, I didn't screw this up. This had nothing to do with me. I can only assume that my face is as shocked as everyone else's because they nod, seemingly believing me for once.

As soon as I turn away from my parents, and my bemused looking twin, I realise nearly everyone else is staring at me too. Half of them don't even know who I am. I'm just a bridesmaid. Most people have no idea I even know you. All I can do is glance round and pray that everyone believes this wasn't my fault.

She turns to look at me, by now realising that I'm playing some part in this utter disaster, and all I can do is look back. I don't want to apologise. I don't want to tell her it's all going to be fine. I can't just stand here though. I look over at your best man, and he looks befuddled, the same expression he's worn since school, and he's hurrying over to the vicar to try and weigh up the situation. Ever the logical one.

I take one last look round the church, and then I do the only thing I can think of.

I run after you.

I pick up the hem of my dress and hurry through the door. Everyone gasps again, and I can hear people yelling my name, but I don't care. I need to sort this.

When I arrive in the little room, I don't see you initially, but eventually I spot you slumped in a chair in the corner, your head in your hands.

Slowly I wander over, whisper your name, crouch down next to you. You look up at me, and I can see the conflict all over your face. Before I know it, words are tumbling out of my mouth and I can't help it. I'm asking you what's going on, I'm yelling at you for forever playing with my feelings, I'm pleading with you to just explain things to me, and all of a sudden, your lips are on mine, and I'm silent.

This is not right, my head tells me. Your jilted bride is behind that door, and she just happens to be my best friend.

Why does it feel like everything has just clicked into place then, my heart is asking.

I'm the first one to pull away, as reluctantly as you. I can't fall for you so completely unless you're committed to this. If something is going to change your mind, I need to walk away, otherwise I'm going to lose a best friend, and the respect of most of the people in that room. I need to know that I have a future with you before I abandon everything else.

You assure me that it's me. It's always been me. It always will be. Why you'd ever thought you could replace me, you didn't know.

Those words are all I need.

You take my hand, gripping it as if you're afraid I'm going to run away again. I look at you, letting you know I have no intention of ever doing that.

And then we run. We slip out of the side door, into the blinding sunlight, and we run away from the church, not looking back. We're leaving everything behind, but it doesn't matter, because we have each other. You grin at me, and I see the freedom in your eyes. For that second, we're teenagers again, and I know everything will work out.

We're going to need to leave this place. We can't stay, with you having a reputation for leaving beautiful young girls at the altar, and me having a reputation for ruining marriages. Eventually it'll be okay though. My sister's hidden rebellious side will rejoice for me, and my parents will realise they're happy as long as I'm happy.

I am happy. Holding your hand right now, running down the dusty little road and ruining this stupid pink dress, I'm happier than I've been in years.

Is this real, I wonder. Or am I dreaming? Is this happening right now?

Yes, I realise, and my heart soars. I've never felt so at peace with a decision in my life.

When we reach the main road, we spot a bus stop and we wait there. We don't care where we're going, we just care that we're going there together. We'll figure everything out another time. For now, we just need to escape.

By the time they realise what's happened, we'll be long gone. They all thought I was just going to talk to you. They probably think I'm still in there, coaxing you into coming back, and all will resume as normal. Cold feet, they'll laugh. A touch of the nerves, they'll chuckle. When they find out, she'll break down, and of course I feel wretched about this, but I know that I'm the one meant to be at your side. The way you're still gripping my hand reassures me of this.

You left your bride for me. You're running away with me. And somehow this entirely screwed up situation feels perfect.

As we're waiting for that bus, I look down at my ruined hem, the dust on my feet. I focus on the tips of my shoes, just peeking out at the bottom of my dress, focus on them so intently my eyes to start to hurt.

I don't know how long I stare at my shoes, but I start to zone out completely. It's only when I hear a collective gasp from the entire gathering that I look up, only to find you gazing at her happily. A gasp of pride, of happiness, of pure joy on a day like today. You pull her close, kissing her lightly, and I don't need to see her face to see how happy it is. Your expression tells me everything I need to.

Everyone stands up and applauds as you leave the church together, and I force a smile onto my face.

I'd always known I would probably start daydreaming during your wedding. No way was I ever going to be able to stand there and calmly listen to every single word. Daydreaming can be such a cruel thing though.

As we follow you out of the church, where everyone is waiting with confetti, my heart pangs for the future I just dreamt up for you and I, the future we'll never have. You're kissing her now, and for the first time in a while, you look at me and all you do is smile. There is no longer any question of what is going on in your head.

You've chosen her. And today has confirmed that you are happy with that.

I'm not, but that doesn't matter anymore. I'll still find happiness in my daydreams.

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**A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't hate me. Well, not too much at least... haha, I hope you all enjoyed this despite the ending. I know this was meant to be up yesterday but a combination of terrible internet connection and a tippex disaster prevented me from uploading it, which is why all of your TBOT replies were late too! I'm sorry, it's a lame excuse but it's all I've got! Anyway, after everyone seemed to like _Escape_, I felt like trying that style again but from Patricia's POV; it did get incredibly melodramatic, so I apologise for that, but I decided I'd just stick with it, and I hope it hasn't turned out disastrously! Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading :)**


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